


Shot in the Dark

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Low Self Esteem, M/M, Praise Kink, gunshot wound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 21:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15300792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: Jason gets shot on a mission gone wrong. He feels like a failure (what else is new?). Luckily, Dick is there to talk some sense into him.





	Shot in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lex_of_Gotham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lex_of_Gotham/gifts).



**"But a shot in the dark, one step away from you. Just a shot in the dark always creeping up on you."**

As far as vigilante injuries went, a gunshot to the shoulder really wasn’t that bad. Broken bone? Maybe. Blood? Everywhere. Buying a new jacket would cost money he didn’t have, and it would take ages to get it worn in properly. But he’d take being shot over being stabbed any day of the week, and for once he was grateful that Roman’s men knew their way around a firearm.

Idiots, though.

Only a complete dumbass would go for a body shot.

Men went for the head. Or the heart. Hell, even the femoral artery. Shoot to kill, not to injure. That should have been lesson number one in henchman school. Honestly, Roman should have been able to hire better. God knew he had the money for it.

He was such a fucking idiot. He should have seen that bullet coming from a mile away. It had been easy. Too easy. There was always a contingency plan. He knew that. He fucking knew that. Could he have been any more stupid?

Once an idiot, always an idiot.

He’d marched right into his death the last time, too.

At least this time didn’t involve a crowbar.

Was he dying?

It sure as hell felt like it.

Same blinding pain. Same floating sensation. Same feelings of nothingness.

He’d fucked up.

Okay. So “fucked up” didn’t even begin to describe it. It should have been easy. In and out, no questions asked, no shots fired. God, he knew Roman like the back of his hand. He should have known better. Really, he should have known better. Pain was ripping through both shoulders. One was hanging lower than it should have been, and Christ that was going to be a bitch to heal. His head was ringing in his ears, and he had to blink several times to keep from seeing double. How hard had he been hit?

He tried to stand, but everything in his body was screaming at him to stay down. He groaned and leaned his head back against the concrete floor. Hell, at least this warehouse wasn’t rigged to explode. An upgrade, really. He’d hate to die the same way twice.

As much as he hated to admit it, he needed help. He couldn’t stand, and God knew Roman’s men would be back to make sure they’d actually killed him this time. If he wasn’t dead when they showed up, he’d be dead soon after. And a dip in the Lazarus Pit wasn’t exactly something he wanted to repeat. “Red Hood to Nightwing,” he said into his comms. He’d heard Dick was back in Gotham down the grapevine. God, he hoped it was true. The last thing he needed was to have to call B in.

“Hood!” that annoyingly-chipper voice came through into his helmet. If Jason listened closely, he could hear the tell-tale signs of a fight going on in the background. Shit. Maybe Dick had already gone back to Bludhaven. “What’s up?”

“You know, the usual,” Jason said through gritted teeth. “Probably a few broken bones. Bleeding out on a warehouse floor.”

“Shit.” Jason flinched when he heard a hard whack. Only complete idiots got within striking distance of Nightwing. “What the hell happened?”

“Oh, just thought I’d relive my mid-teens,” Jason rolled his eyes. “Black Mask happened. Need help.”

“What’s your twenty?”

Jason swore. He hadn’t bothered to check the address. “Uh… Warehouse. Lower east side. ‘Bout the best I can do for you.”

“Be there in ten.”

Jason sighed and shut his eyes when he heard the connection go dead. He was bleeding. Pretty heavily if the light-headedness was anything to go by. God, he hoped Dick would be there in ten. But he was nothing if chronically unreliable. Always late. Not like it mattered. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to focus on the God-awful drop ceiling above him. Who the hell had ever decided those were in-style?

Stay awake. He had to stay awake. Sleep meant not waking up. God though, sleep sounded so good. Everything was heavy. He was being weighed down, and he couldn’t move, and it would be so, so easy to just slip away…

“Shit Hood,” he shot up when he heard the voice, instantly regretting the motion and lying back down. God, could Dick at least have announced himself? “You look like hell.” Jason rolled his eyes, glad his helmet would keep Dick from seeing it. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he coughed, a sickening, wet sound. He sat up again, this time more carefully, using his elbows for support. He could have cried with relief when Dick moved to support his back.

“You didn’t hit your head or anything, right?” Dick asked, and Jason shook his head. He’d fallen on his shoulder, not his skull. Not that it hurt any less. God, how could he have been so stupid? Roman always had more men. Roman always had a back-up plan. He should have known better. “Shoulder’s dislocated,” Dick commented. _No shit._ “Want me to fix it?”

“God, I’m gonna regret this,” Jason groaned and lay back down. He watched Dick move his arm to the side before joining him on the ground, head by his feet. He took several deep breaths, and one sharp one when Dick used his foot to pop his shoulder back in its socket. He’d make sure to shoot Roman there next time they saw each other. Bastard deserved it.

“You okay?” Dick asked, and Jason tilted his head up to watch Dick pull himself into a sitting position. He would have killed to be half that agile and to move half that quickly. The world had more need for heroes like Dick than monsters like him. All he ever did was fuck things up and make life more difficult for everyone else.

“Fine,” Jason responded, tone more curt than he had meant it to be. God, he should have called someone else. Anyone else. But no, he had to summon pretty-boy Dick Grayson who never made mistakes and never did anything wrong. God, why had he been such a damned idiot? Still, he didn’t fight it when Dick tried to help him up.

“You need to see Alfred,” Dick said, and Jason shook his head. Alfred meant Batcave. Batcave meant Bruce. Bruce meant questions he didn’t want to answer, not then, not ever. He could drop by Leslie’s if it was that damned important to Dick. At least she wouldn’t lecture him for screwing things up. Just like Jason did time after God-damned time. “Seriously, Hood. Not the time to argue. Fuck, you’re bleeding…”

“Took you long enough,” Jason said through gritted teeth. The world was spinning faster than it was supposed to be. At least, he thought he wasn’t supposed to feel it spinning. He hissed when Dick pressed his hand against the wound. Didn’t he know blood was damn near impossible to get out of spandex? God, he really needed to switch to armor.

“Jay?” He thought he saw a frown, but darkness was clouding his vision, forming a tunnel around him, and God, it would be so easy to just let the blackness take over. To just fall asleep and never wake up again. Death hadn’t been bad. Cold? Yes. Lonely? Hell yes. _Stay awake,_ he tried to tell himself. There was nothing worse than being alone. Nothing. Afterlife? Bullshit. “Jay?” A more panicked sound.

But the tunnel was getting darker and the black spots were getting bigger, and fighting was so hard.

Giving in was easy.

He’d done it before.

How bad could it be to do it again?

 

* * *

He woke with a gasping breath, but no matter how many breaths he took in, he couldn’t get enough air to fill his lungs. Death by suffocation was new, at least.

He glanced around, trying to get a feeling of where he was. Where had he been? Warehouse. Drugs… Roman. Fuck.

Take stock. He needed to take stock. Shoulder. Right? Gunshot… His head was swimming, and a sick, churning feeling gripped his stomach. He tried to listen. Rush of water? Why the fuck was there water in one of Roman’s hideouts… “About time,” a familiar voice greeted him. He’d heard it before. Where had he heard it before?

He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. Everything would have been so much easier without those damned black spots… “Wha... “ he managed to choke out through a tongue that felt like sandpaper and a mouth that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton.

“Batcave.” Black hair. Bright blue eyes. Skin tight suit that couldn’t possibly have been more unsuitable for fighting crime. Jason wondered if Bruce had ever said anything about it. He’d seen the new Robin suits after he’d died. Shouldn’t he have taken precautions with his precious Nightwing too?

And of all the damned places Dick could have brought him? God, he was never going to hear the end of it from Bruce.

Reckless.

Idiotic.

Dangerous.

Could have gotten himself killed. So what? He obviously hadn’t cared the first time… He tried to move, but his limbs were like lead. He wanted out. God, he wanted out. Underground was no place to be, not for him. Why couldn’t Dick understand that?

“So how bad do the other guys look?”

Jason blinked and stared at him. He’d expected a lecture. He’d expected a scolding. No one knew how to lay on a guilt trip quite like Dick Grayson. Still, he couldn’t help the smile that formed. “Hell of a lot worse than me,” he answered. Hadn’t he seen the bodies? Jason had killed at least three of them. Had downed half a dozen more.

Guns made things too easy.

Guns solved the fucking problem.

“We got the bullet out,” Dick commented, and Jason nodded, glancing at his heavily bandaged shoulder. “Hit you right in the blade. Surprised you could still move it. Few inches over and it would’ve gone straight through your heart.” Just his luck. Why couldn’t Roman find better marksmen?

He should have been relieved.

He should have been grateful.

Fuck ‘should-have’s.’

He could add dying to the list of things he was bad at. “Where’s B?” he asked.

“Not here,” Dick answered, and Jason felt like he could breathe again. Still, Bruce had to have known… It was only a matter of time before the Big, Bad Bat came knocking on his door. If Dick would even let him go home so soon. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fucking failure,” Jason muttered, even though he knew Dick wanted a report on his condition, not his damned mind. Served him right for asking in the first place. He’d never been a good hero. Hell, he hadn’t even done the villain thing completely right.

“You aren’t…” Dick started to say, and Jason shot him a death glare. What the hell did Dick know? He was perfect, the model Jason and the others were supposed to have replicated.

"Just shut the fuck up, okay?" Jason asked, voice resigned. He'd meant to snap. Maybe it would have been easier on both of them if he had just snapped. Anger was easy. Anger meant an end. He'd get worked up. Dick would get worked up. They'd both be screaming at each other and life would move on like it was meant to. But no. He just had to go and get his emotions involved.

One more thing he was bad at. For fuck's sake, he couldn't even get pissed off right. Now Dick was going to get concerned. Now Dick was going to get concerned and he was going to start asking questions that Jason really didn't feel like answering.

What was he doing in the warehouse?

How did he let himself get shot?

How many had he killed?

Because it was never if he'd kill anyone. No, at least Dick had stopped asking him that. It was always how many. Who? Which ones?

Did Dick think it made him some sort of fucking saint for pretending to care about those sons of bitches? They worked for Roman. They were dealing drugs and ruining lives and they'd pulled a gun on him. Of course he was going to fucking shoot.

"Jason," Dick pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Seriously?" Jason questioned. "Don't do that to me right now. I don't fucking need it. I know I fucked up. I don't need you to fucking remind me about it."

"I wasn't going to," Dick responded.

"Bullshit. You're just like him." It was low. It was low and he didn't care. Maybe it would get him to shut up for once and leave him alone. But of course Dick Martyr-Complex Grayson couldn't do that. Always concerning himself with the well-being of others. Why wouldn't he? It's what a hero did, he'd told him once.

What was the point in being a hero if the people they stopped just got back on the streets?

What was the point in being a hero if problems never got solved?

"You didn't fuck up," Dick argued, and Jason rolled his eyes. What did Dick know about fuck-ups?

He could have died. That he could handle. He'd done it before. He wasn't scared of doing it again.

Oh no, he hated that he needed help. Because even after months of being back in Gotham out on his own, he still couldn't do a damned thing right. So what was the God-damned point? "You don't get it, Dick."

"Then help me to," Dick ran a hand through his hair. If he didn't know any better, Jason would have said he was stressed, maybe even nearing a breaking point. Did Dick even have a breaking point? Had he ever even reached it before? He didn't know. He tried to tell himself he didn't care.

"All I ever do is screw up," Jason muttered and moved so he was sat up cross-legged. He tried not to move too much, didn't want to agitate his shoulder more than he needed to. He must have taken one hell of a blow to the head if he was willing to open up to Boy Wonder. "I can't win. Being a hero got me killed. Being a villain landed me in Arkham. I don't even know what the hell I am anymore, and I'm still fucking it all up."

"You aren't a fuck up," Dick repeated, and Jason just shook his head. He'd underestimated Roman. He'd underestimated his men. And now he was stuck in the God-damned Batcave of all places just waiting to ride it out until Alfred finally let him go. With any luck, he'd be able to leave without Bruce ever knowing he was there.

Not likely. Bruce knew everything. Of course he'd fucking know Jason was there. "I need to get home," he tried to stand, but Dick put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. "Seriously?" he asked, once again hating that damned resignation in his tone. He just wanted to go home and sleep it off and forget any of this awful mess had happened.

"At least stay the night?" Dick asked. "Alfred'll kill me if I let you leave with a fresh gunshot wound."

"I'm not staying down here," Jason shook his head. He'd loved the Batcave once upon a time. What twelve year old kid from the worst streets in Gotham wouldn't? The computers, the training equipment, the mystery?

Now all it did was remind him of the Bat and remind him of everything the Bat stood for and everything he stood against. The last thing he needed was to be stuck in his personal hell on earth while the Batman stood watch.

And it didn't help that it was underground.

Sometimes, if he thought hard enough or let his mind slip far away, he could still remember being trapped in his coffin, could still feel the earth pressing down on him, suffocating him.

The manor still had Bruce and good memories he didn't want perverting his bad ones. The last thing he needed was to start confusing Bruce Wayne for a good guy.

At least the manor was above ground.

He started to get up and shot Dick a glare when he moved to help support him. "I know how to walk."

"I know you know how," Dick responded. "But I'm helping you anyway."

Jason rolled his eyes and leaned into his side, hating that he put as much weight on the older man as he did. He was good, he tried to tell himself even though his head was woozy. At least Alfred had had the decency to give him the good pain meds and not whatever the hell knock-off brand it was Bruce usually used. Too habit-forming, Jason had remembered him saying once. Or, at least he thought he did.

Dick led him up the stairs, and he tried to stay focused on not falling over. Wouldn't that be great? Another fuck-up to add to his ever-growing list. He followed Dick through a door to a bedroom and lay down on his back when instructed to do so.

He watched as Dick started to leave. He heard the first Robin's breath hitch and watch as he turned back around. "You're wrong," he said after a moment, and Jason frowned. Wrong about what? Aside from everything, that was. "I know what it's like to fuck up."

"Yeah, right," Jason scoffed and sat back up against the headboard. Dick was tense, muscles rigid, jaw clenched, and Jason couldn't help but think that 'Dick' and 'tense' were two words that never should have been used together in the same sentence. "You're perfect. You don't gotta rub it in."

He watched Dick sigh and move back over to him, sitting cross-legged on the bed, facing him. "I faked my own death for him, Jason," he said. "Remember? You punched me in the face for it. Damn near broke my nose."

"Yeah," Jason glared at the reminder. "I'm still pissed about that, you know."

"You should be," Dick responded and pulled a knee to his chest.

It was rare, being that close to Dick when neither of them were out on patrol. Hell, even on patrol it was rare to be that close. If he looked closely, he could see dark circles under his eyes. And for a moment, Jason couldn't help but think that Dick looked so much older than 25. Maybe being close to Bruce just brought on the shitty side-effect of premature aging.

"Yeah, that was a pretty fucked up thing to do," Jason sighed and hugged himself with his good arm. Maybe in another life, it would have been Dick's arm around him. But it was just stupid to think like that. There was too much distance between them. Jason Todd was a cold-blooded killer, and Dick Grayson was everything pure and right in the world.

He didn't even deserve this much kindness from him.

"So what did Roman do this time?" Dick asked, changing the subject. It must have been a cold day in hell if he was actually asking that question. Jason knew he didn't want the answer, or at least not the real one. But he was going to give it to him anyway.

"Drugs," Jason answered, as if it should have been obvious. Still, he would have picked dealing with Roman over dealing with the Joker any day of the week. Because if Jason ran into that son of a bitch, there was no god in existence that could save him. "Planning to smuggle more in, use mules."

"Right," Dick nodded. Jason could have told him more. Could have gone into horrific detail of the twisted things he'd seen Roman do. The man deserved to die. Jason should have killed him. It should have been so fucking easy. But he hadn't looked over his back, and he hadn't surveyed the room, and, well... Here they both were.

"It was my fault she died," he said suddenly, not even sure where the words came from. Must have been the meds, forcing him to open up like this. Nothing else would make sense. "I should have, I dunno, done something? I yelled at her, the night before. Told her I wish she'd just do me a favor and die because foster care had to be better..." he trailed off, not wanting to remember any of it. "All I ever do is fuck up, Dick," he shook his head. "Fuck, I couldn't even die right," he laughed dryly.

"That's really not funny, Jay."

"It wasn't supposed to be." He sighed and lay back down, draping his legs over Dick's lap. "I just... Sometimes I wish I would've stayed dead." He shut his eyes tightly. "Fifteen year old me really wouldn't be proud of the me I am now."

"Jason," Dick said, and Jason forced himself to re-open his eyes and look at him. "Fifteen year old you shattered a pimp's collarbone and argued with Batman that it was the exact right thing to do. Bruce's rules never suited you, not even then."

"And I'm sure you're just thrilled about that, aren't you?"

"Considering nine-year-old me wanted to track down a mob boss and kill him myself?" Dick asked, and Jason blinked. He'd never known that. He'd always assumed Dick had just wanted to bring him to justice. "B is... He doesn't understand a lot of what we do, yeah? He grew up sheltered. We didn't."

"So why do you still listen to every damn last word he says?" Jason asked. "You played dead for him for fuck's sake."

"It's just..." Dick sighed and ran his hand through his hair yet again."It's complicated, okay?"

"That's not an answer," Jason sighed, and Dick just nodded in response. Bastard. Couldn't even give him the decency of a proper response. He wouldn't lie. It was nice seeing Dick like this, like he was an actual damned human and not the perfect boy-soldier Jason had always seen him as. "Besides. You're perfect. And what am I?" he asked with another dry laugh. "I'm just the monster parents warn their kids to stay away from."

"You aren't a monster," Dick responded.

"How would you even know that? You aren't in my head. You don't know half the shit I've done. Half the shit I'm willing to do," Jason shook his head.

"I know I love you," Dick said. And from the look on Dick's face immediately after the words came out, Jason wasn't sure who was more shocked.

"That isn't funny, Dick," he shook his head. Because of course this had to be some sick joke. No one was ever going to love him. No one ever had. And if Dick was willing to play with his feelings like that? Well then he could go to hell and take Bruce with him.

"I'm not joking," Dick responded, and Jason searched his eyes for anything, _anything,_ to suggest he was lying.

"There's nothing worth loving, Dick," he responded. "I'm a fuck up and a..." he frowned when Dick moved closer to him, cupping his chin in his hands, forcing Jason to look at him. "You don't want to get involved with me."

"I do," Dick replied. Their faces were so close Jason could smell the cinnamon toothpaste lingering on his breath. A quick tilt of his head and they'd be kissing. All it would take was one, easy motion.

"I'm kind of a downgrade from Kori."

"You aren't."

Jason shook his head. Dick had had a God-damned alien princess. He’d had Barbara, who certainly wasn’t a princess, but was definitely something to write home about… Why the hell would he want Jason? Jason was a fuck up who never did anything right.

For God’s sake, he couldn’t even die right.

Jason started to open his mouth to argue with Dick. He was worthless, not worth the space he took up. “Jason?” Dick asked, and Jason forced himself to look Dick in the eye. “Just shut up, okay?”

He’d imagined it hundreds of thousands of times, what it would be like to have Dick’s lips pressed against his own. But nothing could have prepared him for the suddenness, for the surge of electricity that jolted straight through him, for the breathless feeling when Dick pulled back. Jason stared at him, unsure of what to say, of how to react. Because this had to have been some twisted game Dick was playing with his head.

But when had Dick ever been one to play mind games?

“You’re not a fuck-up,” Dick said firmly and kissed him again, and Jason kissed him back, melting into his touch, savoring in every sensation. Dick’s hand on the back of his head, fingers threaded through his hair. And Jason let his good arm wrap around Dick’s waist, feeling the toned muscle underneath the t-shirt he’d changed into.

He moaned when Dick’s tongue pressed against his lips, and he opened them willingly. God, he never would have dreamed he’d be in this position. Because he didn’t deserve Dick Grayson. Not at all. And Dick deserved a hell of a lot better than the screw up he was.

“So perfect, Jaybird,” Dick whispered when he broke the kiss, and God, Jason wanted to just pull him closer again. He took a shuddering breath when Dick left a trail of kisses down the side of his jaw. He gasped and tilted his head back when Dick’s lips found their way to the side of his neck. “So perfect,” he repeated, and Jason hissed when he bit down hard enough to leave a mark. God, he could have kept Dick like that for the rest of their lives.

Dick moved so he was sat in Jason’s lap and… Fuck. Fuck, his pants were getting tighter, and Dick was bound to notice, and why did he always have to ruin everything? But Dick had just smirked and palmed Jason’s cock through his sweats with a, “Someone’s excited.” Jason rolled his eyes and pulled Dick in for another kiss, one holding more force, more passion than the previous two. Only Dick could make cupcake flavored toothpaste appealing.

Dick pushed him back against the bed, careful not to agitate his shoulder, and Jason glanced up at him. “This okay, Jaybird?” he asked, and Jason just blinked because no one had ever asked him if it was okay before…

“Perfect,” he answered with a stupid grin.

“Good,” Dick responded and slid his hands under Jason’s shirt, tracing his abs. “So beautiful,” he whispered before pulling the piece of clothing off all together.

Maybe getting shot hadn’t been that bad after all.

 

* * *

He lay with his head on Dick’s chest and focused on trying to even his erratic breathing back out. “You okay?” Dick asked, and Jason just nodded because he wasn’t entirely sure he could still speak. God, no one had lied to him when they’d said Dick was a damned god in bed, not that Jason had much to compare him to. “I think,” Dick breathed. “We may have woken Bruce up.”

“Fuck Bruce,” Jason managed and turned so he could face Dick. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Dick shrugged. “I just… Wanted that. For a long time now.”

Jason nodded and curled up against his side, breathing him in. “Me too.”


End file.
